


Come to Pass

by ravenslight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Divination, Gen, Minor Violence, Prophecy, Prophetic Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:01:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24885769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenslight/pseuds/ravenslight
Summary: A pureblood line will end the reign of the Dark Lord.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 40
Collections: Divination: 2020 Round Four





	Come to Pass

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [TheSlytherinCabal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSlytherinCabal/pseuds/TheSlytherinCabal) in the [DBQ2020Round4](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DBQ2020Round4) collection. 



> Written for the fourth and final round of The Slytherin Cabal's 2020 Death by Quill competition. Each finalist wrote the pairing Sybill Trelawney/Lucius Malfoy and the prompt was Divination. Thank you to In_Dreams for her incredible alpha/beta work throughout this whole competition, as, without her, I'd have been entirely lost. (Originally posted June 24th, 2020)
> 
> Received 1st Place in Round 4: Divination  
> Received Crown's Choice Award: LadyKenz347

_I have seen your heart._

The words crawled over Sybill Trelawney’s skin, clattering against the sides of her skull as though they were trying to forcibly extricate themselves from the soft, grey matter of her brain. 

Wavering as she imagined the heat of a desert, two worlds shifted before her. Their details blended together in a kaleidoscope of light and sound that blinded her.

“Sybill?” The voice calling her was distant, clouding the vision before her further. Like clouds slipping between her fingertips, the vision faded into nothing, and Sybill blinked several times, her eyelashes brushing against her thick lenses. 

“Are you alright?” Rosella’s expression was pinched, trepidation evident in the arch of her brow. “You were muttering to yourself.”

Gritting her teeth to dispel the waning vision before her, Sybill returned to her work and vanished the line of her wandering quill. “It’s nothing.”

Rosella retreated towards the door with a skeptical hum in an obvious attempt to put distance between herself and Sybill. 

The distance cleared some of the haze in Sybill’s mind, and she prepared to sink back into the soothing silence of the Sight when Rosella’s voice echoed back to her. “You have a records request.”

An unusually busy evening for the Archives, then. Sybill adjusted the gauzy shawl she wore coiled around her shoulders and gestured towards Rosella. She sniffed, shaking her shoulders out and directing the shutters of the one small window closed, cutting off the moonlight filtering through. “Very well. Send them in.” 

What a waste of a perfectly good blood moon.

Sybill set about tidying her workspace as she waited, carefully tucking her crystals behind stacks of parchment to hide them from prying eyes.

As she swept her hand over them, reaching for a swatch of aspen and sage to purify the air, a violent shiver rippled over her, and she stared down at her image reflected back in the shiny surface of her black tourmaline. 

_I have seen your heart._

Cautiously, she lifted the tourmaline to her face, studying its facets, but the door to the Archives burst open, the force of it blasting the shutters open once more. 

“I’ll have the records for Pliabrielk v. Flack. The case against expanding goblin protections,” a clipped voice demanded. The harsh snick of wood on the metal tabletop drew her eyes upwards. 

Backlit as the newcomer was by the moonlight, Sybill still placed him immediately. Tall and imposing, his white-blond coiffure brushed the dusty beams of the ceiling. 

Lucius Malfoy. She’d not seen him since her early school years, but the whisper of foreboding across her skin recognised him. “Mister Malfoy, what a surprise,” she responded, working to keep her tone placid as she slipped the black tourmaline into her pocket.

To Malfoy’s credit, he remained impassive. “The records, if you will.”

A ticking clock marked the frigid silence.

Cocking her head, she studied him. Harsh, dark waves of anguish rolled off the man, his gaze fluttering rapidly between condescension and—yes, she wasn’t mistaken, then. Fear. “Life has not been kind to you, I fear. Pain. I feel so much pain from you.”

As if snapped out of a trance, Malfoy rapped his walking stick against the countertop, rattling her crystals. “The _records_.”

Sybill pressed a hand to her chest to calm the sudden, anxious fluttering of her heart, but she turned, summoning the records he sought: four piles to the left and six from the top. When they landed smoothly in her hands, she rounded the table, eyeing him sympathetically as intuition assaulted her with a sensation of beating wings. Blindly, she offered, “The falcon accompanies you—you have a dangerous enemy.” 

His lip curled in a sneer, but Sybill knew—just as she always knew which scone was the freshest—that it was based in fear and not true anger. With a serene smile, she offered him the records.

The transfer was nearly perfect, but as she pulled away, the folders settling carefully into his grasp, his forefinger brushed her own.

The physical contact was the catalyst she’d been missing, and the premonition she’d been seeking only moments before enveloped them both with a roar.

Frozen in place, Sybill felt her jaw pop open in awe as she worked to catalogue everything she saw.

Ruined cathedral ceilings vaulted above her. Ash rained down from the ceiling, and broken bodies littered the floor beneath chunks of fine marble. Her heart pounded in her chest as she turned towards furious hissing.

At the far end of the room, a weeping man knelt before a cloaked figure atop the rubble.

 _Lord Voldemort_. 

The realisation was a bucket of cold water over her head, and she reached for the black tourmaline, clutching it like a lifeline. Simultaneously, a hand clapped onto her shoulder. Lucius Malfoy clung to her, staring in terror at the ghostly visage of himself kneeling before the Dark Lord.

“Please, my Lord, spare my son. _Please._ ” 

Cruel laughter spilled from Voldemort’s lips. “So quick to beg when you’ve betrayed me.” His handsome face warped in fury, and he raised his wand. “I have seen your heart, and it is _mine_.” A brilliant flare of emerald light struck the duplicate Lucius in the chest, his ruined body falling to the ground.

As if torn from her soul at the sight, unbidden words spilled from her lips in a low, guttural growl. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives."

The laughter cut off in a violent choke, and the Dark Lord wrenched his head upright, lip curling into a sneer when he spotted her.

For the first time, true terror iced her veins, coiling in her lungs as she chanted.

Distantly, she was aware of Lucius’ swearing, roughly dragging her over the ruins as a gravelly voice issued from deep in her chest: “Those born into power will fall from his ranks; those with the purest blood will perish at the Dark Lord’s hands. The first-born son born of ancestral lines will change the tide of the war, raised by a half-blood, befriended by the one who lives, and tied inexplicably to a Muggle-born girl.” 

Her chanting grew louder, prophetic words spilling from her lips faster than she could force them closed.

“A pureblood line will end the reign of the Dark Lord. A pureblood line will end the reign of the Dark Lord.” 

A loud crack sounded, true pain spider webbing up her sides as her Inner Eye stuttered, blinking the premonition out before her, and she slammed back into herself. Gasping lungfuls of oxygen, she clasped her side, the burn of a Stinging Jinx ebbing away as she stared at Lucius’ pale, drawn face.

With a rasping breath, she uttered, “You are in grave danger.”

“What _are_ you?” Lucius Malfoy uttered, voice trembling in terror before he fled, records forgotten on the table.

Sybill slumped against the table, fingers quaking as she lit the sage under the light of the moon.

* * *

Weeks passed in the wake of the vision, but Sybill still keenly felt the ghost of the Dark Lord’s breath down the back of her neck. Her fear had grown talons, nestling itself close to her heart; its talons dug deeper in the quiet moments of reprieve since Lucius fled the archives. 

The black tourmaline was her ever-present talisman, carefully stowed in a blessed pouch nestled in the hollow of her throat. 

Focusing on the candle flame she’d arranged atop the morning’s _Daily Prophet_ , Sybill whispered a protection spell, burning parchment with handwritten names on it.

 _Lucius Malfoy. Narcissa Malfoy_. _Draco Malfoy._

It was old magic, the kind that had fallen out of practice with the advent of wands and the reign of high society, but it was powerful. The kind of protection that only the darkest of magic could destroy.

“Sybill?” Lily Potter rounded the corner, startling Sybill from her work, and she dropped the parchment.

Swearing to herself, she dropped to the floor, reaching desperately for the parchment before the fire licking its edges burned away, but the door swung open, a fresh gust of air extinguishing it as her fingers clasped opposite the smouldering edge.

Heart in her throat, Sybill peered down at the parchment. Only one name was burned away, scoured by the sacred protection of the flame. The remaining two stood out on the paper as a damning accusation. 

_Lucius Malfoy. Narcissa Malfoy_.

Those marked for death. 

On the opposite side of the table, Lily whirled, a low snarl punctuating the erratic beat of Sybill’s heart. “What do you want, _Death Eater_?”

Slowly, Sybill rose, facing the man before them. 

“I’m not here to harm you.” As if to punctuate the sentiment, he raised his hand in supplication, no wand in sight, as he met Sybill’s gaze. “The Dark Lord knows.”

Once more, cold fear rooted Sybill to the spot. She’d not spoken of the prophecy, her father’s dismissal of the occult staying her hand: a single moment could alter the timelines.

Lily peered back and forth between them, shifting into a defensive crouch in front of Sybill.

Her friend’s protection warmed her, but Sybill quietly summoned a crystal ball from her makeshift altar.

“One fortnight ago, Mister Malfoy requested the very records you now seek,” Sybill intoned, tracing her fingers over the surface. Though the competing energies in the room robbed her of clarity, she still managed to project the prophecy into the depths of the crystal.

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies._

Lily wilted, her hand drifting towards her stomach as she took an involuntary step forward. “Born as the seventh month dies—” Her eyes were ringed by unshed tears when she met Sybill’s gaze. “Sybill, am I—” 

“A target. As is the Longbottom girl,” Lucius finished. His hair hung limply around his face, deep, bruised bags circling his eyes as though he hadn’t slept in days. His robes were wrinkled in a manner undignified for a pureblood of his status. “The Dark Lord places great importance on Divination. Already he is moving against the Order more fervently.”

Intuition driving her, Sybill snuffed the candle and unfolded the _Daily Prophet_ from beneath it, cooling wax dripping over her fingertips. “‘St. Mungo’s Epicenter of Latest Death Eater Raid’,” she read, fingers brushing over the large photograph she’d ignored that morning. The Dark Mark coiled above the building. She skimmed the rest of the article then cocked her head at Malfoy, appraising him. “They were searching only for those with children to be born at the end of July.”

Suddenly, realisation dawned on her: there were whispers in the Order of a spy within the Dark Lord’s ranks, their identity safeguarded by Dumbledore himself. 

It felt as though the world had been upended beneath her. A Malfoy working with the Order—a _spy_ for the Order—defied logic, but she’d never relied on that which could be seen by the human eye. 

To busy her hands, Sybill summoned the tea she kept on hand; in moments of quiet, the Archives offered a useful respite to read the leaves, and they’d not yet led her astray.

The dim light from the waning moon lit her hands as she worked, imbuing her intent with revealing answers. The clink of the china was calming, and she offered him a teacup, her fingers minutely brushing his.

A flash of memory lanced through her: _A pureblood line will end the reign of the Dark Lord._

Lucius rolled his eyes. “Now is not the time for parlour tricks. We need—” 

“Drink to the dregs,” Sybill instructed as she pressed a matching cup into Lily’s freckled hands. Both drank in silence—Lily with far more trust than Malfoy—as Sybill rolled her tourmaline at her neck, watching Malfoy drink deeply as she summoned an owl.

The bird landed before her, yellowed eyes peering from the depths of its dark features as she quickly penned a missive. Upon completing the note, she attached it to the bird’s leg, sending it away in a ruffle of feathers.

Intuition nudged at her when she faced them again, and she gestured for Malfoy’s teacup. Within, the faint outlines of a grim speckled the china, a frisson of foreboding running through her. “Danger— _death_ —adjacent to you. Likely someone for whom you care greatly,” she whispered, her voice shaking on the declaration.

Lucius’ countenance shuttered immediately, pain rolling off him in waves. “Narcissa’s health is fragile; even the most skilled Healers cannot determine why. She will die within the year.” His silver-grey eyes pierced hers. “I’ve come to care for my wife, and my son…” A haunted look crossed his features. “If your prophecy is correct… my son is in grave danger. For her, I will sacrifice anything to ensure his survival.” 

She nodded once, a decisive, affirming gesture. “It takes great bravery to heed the call of the Veil.” At once, she gathered her belongings, safely tucking the crystal ball into the inner pocket of her robes. “There is only one wizard whom the Dark Lord fears more than any other.”

“Dumbledore,” Lily finished, eyes darting to Lucius. “But what about—”

“Master Malfoy will come with us,” Sybill answered, conviction in her tone. “The Headmaster will be anticipating him, I expect.” 

Her companions exchanged wary glances, but with another nod, Sybill summoned the Floo powder and disappeared in a flurry of flames.

When she stepped from the hearth, vaulted ceilings boasted intricate stained glasswork, within which sea creatures flitted in greeting. From the central peak, an antique chandelier dotted with gas lamps cast elaborate shadows over walls filled with books and baubles.

Dumbledore reclined behind the raised desk, a phoenix perched to his left. Sweeping upright, his robes billowed out behind him. “Ah, young Master Malfoy.” Turning to her, his gaze twinkled behind half-moon spectacles. “Miss Trelawney. Madam Potter.”

“Professor,” Sybill replied evenly, remembering his cool dismissal of her skill all those months ago. Now, he peered down at her with silent scrutiny as Lucius and Lily flanked her.

“I’m afraid there’s no time for pleasantries, is there?” Dumbledore fretted, resuming his seat with a flourish of robes. “No matter. I received your missive, Miss Trelawney. You said it was of utmost importance?” 

Bolstering herself, Sybill pushed her glasses upright. “Professor, I have seen grave tidings of a future wherein the Dark Lord rises.” Carefully, she extracted the crystal ball from her robes. “The prophecy.”

Dumbledore leaned forwards, his fingers grazing the surface of the crystal with a near-feral look in his eyes, but Sybill covered it with her hands, insistent suspicion driving her actions. “Did you do as I asked?”

The man answered with a tight purse of his lips, eyes narrowing incrementally as he called, “Narcissa, dear?” 

From behind Dumbledore, Narcissa Malfoy emerged, expression guarded as she cradled a young boy to her chest, his appearance uncannily similar to his father’s. Immediately, Lucius went to her, pulling the woman into his grasp and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

At Malfoy’s grateful nod, Sybill removed her hand, allowing Dumbeldore to lift the prophecy.

Sybill’s rasping words filled the room. Narcissa turned further into Lucius’ hold, tears slipping from her gaze as he cradled her frail frame.

Finally, when silence echoed, Lucius released his wife and faced Dumbledore. “The Dark Lord has already begun to mobilise the Death Eaters; he has identified two targets: the Longbottom and the Potter boys.”

A severe frown pulled Dumbledore’s lips down, and he steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Very well. I will have the Potters and Longbottoms moved to a safe house forthwith, to be placed under the protection of a Fidelius Charm.”

Lily gasped, her hand cupping the swell of her stomach. “Professor Dumbledore, we can still—”

“You cannot,” Sybill answered, her tone faltering. “If you do, you will die.” She lifted the crystal ball, peering into its depths. “You may very well _still_ die, but this measure of protection is for your own good.” 

“For the _greater_ good,” Dumbledore emphasised. “I will do as I can to ensure the future of the wizarding world.” 

Lucius stepped forward, his gaze steady on Professor Dumbledore’s. “And I will continue to serve the Order within the Dark Lord’s regime.” His gaze cut to hers, quoting the prophecy. “A pureblood line will end the reign of the Dark Lord.”

Once more, Sybill cupped the black tourmaline at her throat, seeking out the comfort of its weight before she snapped the string, offering it to Lucius. “For protection, to ward away evil intent.”

He accepted it silently and tucked it into the blanket swaddling his son with a grateful nod. 

“In the meantime, it appears Hogwarts has need of a Divination professor after all, Miss Trelawney.”

* * *

**31st October 1981**

A faint tapping permeated her dream, its staccato beat underscoring her terror. Snakes slid over the floor towards her from Voldemort’s outstretched hand.

Desperately scrambling backwards, Sybill tried to force herself awake.

A sharp rock caught her ankle, and she pitched over, the impact jarring her from the dream.

Blinking blearily towards the tapping noise, several beats passed before Sybill recognised the being peering back at her: an owl, battered and burnt, holding a scroll clamped in its beak.

With clumsy, sleep-encumbered movements, she lurched from the bed, threw the shutters open, and extracted the scroll with shaking fingertips.

Two hastily scrawled lines bisected the parchment: _Get to the Potters’. I’m sorry._

Gasping, she dropped the parchment and raced towards the stairs, climbing clumsily from her home in the Divination tower. The halls were empty as she ran, terror clutching her heart as she reached the perimeter of Hogwarts’ grounds and Apparated on the spot.

Her knees gave out upon landing, the impact with the ground punctuated by a flash of unmistakable emerald wandfire, and her breath left her in an anguished sob.

Peter Pettigrew was supposed to be watching the home. 

Smoke curled up in plumes from Godric’s Hollow. The wraithlike coils were nearly lifelike as they twisted and curled together, but it was neither the smoke nor the certainty in her chest that Lily was gone that sent her breath stuttering out of her in desperate gasps.

A grim lumbered from the coiling smoke with a broken howl, but instinct carried her towards the home, crawling over smouldering remains in the garden and avoiding still-burning fires in the foyer. 

Upon reaching the nursery, Sybill froze, horror twisting its fist in her gut. 

Lily was splayed on the floor, her eyes staring up at the ceiling sightlessly. Her body was twisted into itself, though the angle in death illustrated her fierce protectiveness of the infant in the crib behind her.

He was _alive_. 

Harry Potter stared up at Sybill, piercing green eyes—Lily’s eyes—red-ringed and full of unshed tears. In the middle of his forehead, an angry, lightning bolt-shaped wound wept. Her godson, protected by the magic of his mother’s sacrifice.

With awkward, hushing coos learned by observation, Sybill leaned over the rail of the crib and lifted Harry into her arms. “Shush, dear boy. Aunty Sybill has you now.” 

As if on instinct, Harry burrowed into Sybill’s chest, tucking his head beneath her chin as she rushed from the home. 

In the waning light of the flames, Sybill Apparated away from the Potter home, clinging tightly to the boy.

* * *

A lamp bobbed towards them beyond Hogwarts’ gates, the figure holding it aloft cloaked in darkness.

“Miss Trelawney… the Potters?” Albus Dumbledore’s inquiry was clinical. 

“Dead.” The weight of her sorrow threatened to crush her. “The Malfoys?”

Dumbledore’s eyes shuttered, a great sigh leaving him. “I am afraid the same fate has befallen them, though they died a hero’s death; they sacrificed themselves for another.”

Behind him, Professor McGonagall advanced, a boy with familiar silver-blond hair perched on her hip and a scroll in her hand. 

The letter was as short as the first that night: _Take care of my boy. L.M._

A familiar black tourmaline talisman was bound tightly in the scroll. 

“The Malfoy family values self-preservation,” Professor McGonagall intoned in her rough brogue. “They realised their errors far too late to save themselves, but they believed you might offer Draco a second chance. Narcissa Malfoy was a great believer in the Sight.”

McGonagall raised a brow, offering her the Malfoy boy. His weight settled evenly on her hip opposite Harry, and the group began the trek towards the castle.

The visions that had plagued her for months were quiet, their warnings realised.

Lily Potter was dead.

The prophecy had come to pass.


End file.
